Happy New Year, Darling
by MapleandPheonixFeather
Summary: "For the next hour, I say that for every regret we have from this war, we take a shot. Then, we let them go, and we never mention them again." On the eve to the first new year after Voldemort's death, Oliver Wood finds himself suffocating in emotions he just can't place. Story a sequel to "What the Stories Say", but it is not necessary to read it to understand this fic.


He sat in the bar with the curly-haired woman he had picked up at his parents' New Years party. Earlier, whilst everyone had been celebrating the new year of freedom, Oliver had found himself constrained in the house full of people, smoke, and the smell of the ever-pouring alcohol. He had been instantly drawn to the one person who looked the same way he felt. Like she wanted nothing more than to escape.

He had walked towards her. She, like him, had been holding only a Butterbeer, and she had yet to take a sip. They looked at each other and the untouched drinks in their hands, and Oliver expressed the one thing on his mind at that moment.

"Would you like to find somewhere quieter?" He didn't think of the implications; all he really wanted to do was get out. Oliver really wasn't ithat/i guy anyway. His love for Quidditch had counteracted any need for anything physical beyond him and his broom. He was a career man through and through.

She had nodded and smiled at him with a shy little smile. He had taken her hand and they had Apparated to the Hogs Head – the one bar he knew would be quiet on a New Years Eve, as it was usually quiet. They had both ordered a Butterbeer, neither really interested in anything stronger.

Now, they didn't say anything. Both sipped from their bottles and looked at each other. They had both shed their cloaks, and Oliver sat in the blue button up shirt his mother had forced him to wear. He took a look at the girl in the black dress across from him. While it set off her uncontrolled red curls and deep blue eyes, it accentuated her white skin, causing her to look paler that she actually was, making the freckles that splattered her face and chest more obvious. There was nothing extraordinary about her. She was neither tall or short, thin or chubby, though through it all, she was quite pretty.

With a start, Oliver realised he didn't even know her name.

He broke the silence. "I'm sorry, but I don't know your name."

The girls lips curved up in a small smile. "I'm Susan Bones. And you're Oliver Wood."

Oliver hated when people introduced himself for them. His mouth turned down into a slight frown. She must have picked up on his displeasure, because she added, "Your parents pointed you out when I walked in."

They fell back into silence. As Oliver swirled his drink, he couldn't help but feel that, while he had escaped the stiffling feel from his parents' party, he was still suffocating, and he wasn't sure what was causing it. He broke the silence in an attempt for air.

"Why did you come to the party? You didn't seem that excited to be there."

Susan looked at him in surprise. "The same reason you were there, I suppose. Our parents are good friends, you know, and I was expected to be there, but as everyone got drunker and louder, I knew I just wanted to escape."

"But why did you want to escape? You could have joined in the festivities, got yourself pissed, and brought in the New Year with no worries on your mind."

"Again, the same reasons you did."

But Oliver didn't know why he felt sufficated, why he couldn't drink to the New Year, and why he wanted to leave. He was about to voice his troughts, but Susan pushed through first.

"You know, it's the first New Year with no threat of Voldemort over our heads for the first time in years. I wanted the new year to be happy, but instead, it became nothing but a bunch of people hammered out of their minds. Come Midnight, a few people will be sober enough to realise it's a new year, and no one will remember tonight come tomorrow. How is that a celebration?"

Oliver nodded in agreement, but if that was what had made him feel so trapped, he should be free now. Free to celebrate without the gloom that had settled over his spirit.

He watched as Susan studied his face. "That's not what it was for you, was it?" she whispered. Oliver was surprised at how well she could read people.

Oliver shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but I just feel suffocated."

Susan leaned in slightly closer. "Why?"

Oliver looked at her. "I don't know," he muttered. He looked down at his hands, which were wrapped around his drink. He fiddled with the bottle, not wanting to look her in the eyes. He felt that if he held her gaze, she would find out, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face whatever was choking him.

Susan got up. He watched as she went to the the bar and talked to the barmaid., who handed Susan a bottle and two small glasses. She walked back towards him.

Susan talked as she approached him. "Nobody came out of this war whole, and everyone finds different ways of dealing with the grief. At the party, everyone's numbing the feeling with alcohol. They'll all ring in the New Year with no feeling at all. In the morning, they'll feel terrible, with headaches, dry mouths, and a gaping hole in their memory. For some, the turn of the New Year will be enough for them to move on, those who weren't affected much. Others will turn to drink again and again, and still, others will grieve for years, but none of them are facing their fears."

She sat down across from him and opened the bottle, which he now recognised to be Firewhiskey. "I let go of my pain as soon as I realised that what we lost gave us what we have."

Oliver looked at her. "So where do I fit in? Will I be one of the ones who grieve for years before I finally move on?"

Susan shook her head as she poured them each a shot. "You fit into none of these categories because you aren't grieving. You said you feel suffocated. You're wallowing in regret. You can't happily drink to the New Year because you can't let the old one go. You can't forgive yourself." She handed him the glass and put the other in front of her. She glanced at her watch. "It's eleven. For the next hour, I say that for every regret we have from this war, we take a shot. Then we let those regrets go, and we never mention them again."

Oliver looked at her sceptically, but he didn't object.

"I'll go first," she said. "Here's for not returning to Hogwarts this year. For letting this entire year go to waste because I couldn't return after the battle and study." She took the shot, put the glass on the table, and looked at him.

"But a lot of people from your year didn't go back," Oliver objected.

Susan shrugged. "It's still a regret. I envisioned myself in my first year of Healer training, but instead, I'm sitting doing nothing because I didn't have the confidence in myself that I would pass. Your turn."

"Here's to letting in that Quaffle in the championship game and causing us to lose the Cup." He knocked back the shot, and Susan looked at him in disbelief.

"You do know that there are six other people on a Quidditch team, don't you?"

"But we lost by ten points."

Susan filled the glasses again and held hers. "Here's to being a bystander during that year of Hogwarts. For not protecting my friends, for watching as things happened, for not taking a stand." She grimaced as she swallowed.

"You were doing what you needed to keep yourself safe," Oliver pointed out.

"But others risked their wellbeing to keep others safe. I didn't do anything, and I could've helped."

Oliver took his glass. "Here's to doing nothing during the war. All I did was play Quidditch. It wasn't until the battle that I finally did something."

Susan put her hand on his. "But you did do something. You gave people hope in a dark time."

Oliver snorted. "I wouldn't call Quidditch hope."

Susan smiled and poured. "Maybe you're right, but you gave people a sense of normality. No matter what was going on, there was always Quidditch to keep people on a scheduale. It was a reminder that life would still happen, even in the bleakest of times."

This time, when Susan put the glass to her lips, Oliver could see that her her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. "Here's to putting off seeing my aunt, for saying that I'd see her on the next holiday."

Oliver sat there a little awkwardly, not knowing exactly how to react to that one. He knew Amelia Bones had been killed by Death Eaters in the early part of the war, but he didn't know what he could say to comfort Susan. He settled for putting his large hand over hers as he picked up his glass with the other.

"Here's for not thinking on my feet, and for watching Christina have to run for her life."

Susan looked at him. "Who's Christina?"

"Christina MacIntosh. She was a Chaser on our team when the Death Eaters were going through the Quidditch League. She was given about a five minute head-start. I should have lied and said she was related to me."

Susan looked him in the eyes. "Oliver, there is no way that would have worked. You need time to pull that off. She lived, didn't she?"

Oliver nodded. "But she was missing for so long. It was hard to get the news out to all the runaway Muggleborns. When they found her in North Scotland, she was suffering from hypothermia and near starvation. The Healers are still monitoring her, and it will be years before she can play again."

"Well, at least she lived, and that's something to be thankful for." She lifted her newly filled shotglass. "Here's to not fighting at the Battle, and for running when things got tough."

"It's not a bad thing," Oliver said, "that you didn't fight. It was one of the most horrible nights of my life. At least you get to dream easy; I dream of Colin Creevey dead in my arms. And of Lavender Brown." He put the glass to his lips. "This is to not reaching her in time."

Susan held his hand as he told his story. "She needn't have died. If I'd only reached her two seconds earlier, she would've lived. The wounds wouldn't have been so deep. Even Hermione Granger throwing the werewolf off her wasn't enough. She died in the Great Hall, you know. They couldn't heal her; she had lost too much blood, and it's all my ruddy fault!" He was staring into the empty glass, his face strangely passive for the situation.

Susan checked her watch. "We have five minutes; I'd say we have time for one more." She poured the remaining Firewhisky, and lifted the cup in her hands.

"Here's for never telling Ernie how much I loved him." A single tear rolled down her freckled face.

Oliver picked up his. "Here's to letting the only girl I ever loved walk away."

Somewhere, a clock struck midnight. Oliver knocked back the drink, relishing the burning sensation in his throat.

He stared into his glass, his mind hundreds of miles away. A girl with frizzy brown hair and wise smile in his mind's eye. "Happy New Year, darling," he whispered.

Title: Happy New Year, Darling

Summary:

iFor the next hour, I say that for every regret we have from this war, we take a shot. Then we let them go, and never mention them again./i

On the eve to the first new year after Voldemort's death, Oliver Wood finds himself sufficating in emotions he just can't place.

"It's ten to twelve," she stated. "I say that for every regret we have from this year, we take a shot. Then we let them go, and never mention them again."

Oliver grumbled, but obliged. "Here's to sitting back and doing nothing about Voldemort until the Final Battle." He knocked the liquor back.

"And for not reaching Lavender in time." A second shot drowned.

"To letting in the Quaffle that cost us the Cup."

The regrets came until one minute to the new year.

"Here's to letting the girl I love go."

He relished the burn.

"Happy new year, darling."


End file.
